Lena couldn’t promise repose. There were many things she’d commit to: camaraderie, loyalty, beneficence, kindness, generosity and selflessness, but in this great outstretch of land, where mighty forces clashed, where gods spoke and worlds fell apart, where herds seethed and simmered, resurrected and renewed from ashes, there was never a true essence of peace. Stretches of time could compose and construct the artifice of morality and sighs of relief, breaks and intakes of air softening and smoldering until the next wave of uncertainty. She’d long since accepted and adopted this fashion, but didn’t allow her frame to be completely corrupted by the ages of war and daises of bloodshed; brutality struck at her membrane in the most acrimonious of times, and she still regretted the plucked strings of her upheaval and damnation – but it didn’t consume her. It wasn’t the making of her character, the heartbeat of her presence, the delight of her life, the nymph tended to grasp at lilies, daffodils, laughter and merriment, and only when pushed, shoved, driven into the armaments of peril and oblivion, did she consign herself to the sinister edges of insurrection. Her eyes softened, perused over the elder mare, Tyra, and wondered what shape she would take within the confines of this realm. If she sought divinity, virtue, and keen morality, she’d have to protect herself from the fringe of blades and the serrated knives of enemies, adversaries who perceived junctures of serenity as slander to their creation. She’d have to slide away from the chaotic friction, the assemblage of titans and behemoths, monsters and demons, steel her soul for the frantic sedition of others. Did she have the heart, the courage, the strength to do it? Did her heart beat in steadfast, valorous form? Could her stalwart entity mold and sculpt over her dulcet requiems and laments? Could she survive? The sylph prospered her gifts, extended her wisdom, and ruminated over how to help the maiden persevere. “Its difficult to truly conjure peace here, but, I can still offer you a place to belong.” She drew another breath, warmed the atmosphere with the soothing, assuaging alms of a gracious, regal consul, while Imogen listened on, silent witness to renewal measures. “I live in the Aurora Basin, a land surrounded by mountains, accompanied by a valley, lake, caverns and hot springs. If you wish, you could call it home.”